Moving

No, not me, but this blog.

After sticking with blogger for awhile, hoping that something would change and I'd be able to read and post comments without the help of a proxy again, I have finally given up and decided to move The Local Dialect over to wordpress. The recent tease, being allowed full blogspot access for a full day and then having said access yet again revoked, has been the last straw. Google needs to stop cooperating with the Great Firewall, that's all I gotta say.

So, without further ado -- The local dialect can now be found at http://thelocaldialect.wordpress.com , so please update your links and If I have forgotten to link you on the new site, slap me over the head and remind me. Hope to see you all soon on my new, improved, unblocked (knock wood, but watch it go down tomorrow!) blog.

Mianzi Not Included

I just wanted to take a moment to say how much I really enjoy buying used things. I got a new digital camera last week, a Sony 5.0 megapixel number, quite new looking, in perfect working condition, for only 500RMB (a mere 60 or so dollars). New, this camera would cost me a large chunk of my monthly salary, but used, it's affordable. It was, I must say, a real bargain.

This seems to be a trait that is uniquely American (perhaps Western?) -- we enjoy getting a bargain. Chinese people, on the other hand, do not like to buy used things. They say used clothes are dirty, and that you can get AIDS from them. Used appliances are acceptable, but it would be better to buy something brand new, which would give you a bit more "face" than the old stuff.

I once went to Dali with a couple of friends, and we were randomly browsing around a jade shop, with really no intention whatsoever of buying anything. The jade pieces have pricetags on them, and they're never cheap. A quick browse through the shop would reveal everything from 500RMB-5000RMB. My friend was looking at a jade Guanyin, the goddess of mercy. She was only about an inch long, and the pricetag read 3000RMB (roughly 380USD). The shop owner noticed my friend looking, and took her out of the case to show her off. While it was a pretty piece, we weren't going to spend 3000RMB on a piece of jade. The owner encouraged my friend to make an offer, but he declined, saying it was out of his price range. The owner persisted, and finally my friend laughingly, as we were headed out the door, said "75RMB!" To our surprise, the owner immediately called us back in and the 3000RMB guanyin now had a new home. We asked the owner what the deal was with the pricetags, why the huge markup? She said, in all seriousness, that lots of rich tourists -- not from foreign countries, but from China itself, from places like Beijing and Shanghai -- would pay the sticker price without even trying to negotiate. Why? Well, when you go back to Beijing with a guanyin around your neck and your buddies ask you where you got it, you can say "this is pure Burmese jade, I got it in Yunnan. Cost me 3000RMB, but it was worth every penny!" and your friends would ooh and ahh, not so much over the jade, but over the extravagance of the purchase, and you'd immediately have won "face" with them.

That's why Chinese people don't buy used things. Poor people buy used things. People who can't afford new things buy used things. People wouldn't think of buying clothes, even designer labels like Chanel or Prada, off of E-bay. I remember the day I brought home both a fully automatic washing machine and a refrigerator for 200RMB each. A friend of mine had payed three times that amount for a lesser, only partially automatic, washing machine. My washing machine still works, like a charm, over a year later, although my refrigerator has succumbed to the heat. But the beauty of used things is that they're easily replaceable. I don't feel the same guilt, the same sense of buyer's remorse over my dead 200RMB refrigerator, because, seriously, 200RMB is about 25 dollars and I'll just get a new one, big deal. If I'd spent 8000RMB on a brand new refrigerator that broke on me, you can bet I'd be crying over it as we speak. So I might lose "face" with my used purchases, but I gain value.

I have to say, I started writing this post about a week ago, but didn't finish it and forgot about it until today. Why? Well, another trip to the used stuff market and we're the proud owners of two new comfy computer chairs. We had just bargained chair number one, a nearly-new plush red number, down to 30RMB and were about to load it onto the cart to take home when we spotted it's brother, a blue version of the same chair, but slightly more beat up. My husband offered up 20RMB for the raggedy chair, which was quickly agreed to, and so we took home a pair of chairs instead of just one. I'm sitting in my new-used 30RMB chair now, and I gotta say it's comfy as hell. Thanks used stuff market! Later on in the day, we went to Wal-Mart and purchased an iron, and at the register, in glass cases, were electric razors that cost 1500RMB. Why on earth, I asked Wang Yao, would anyone in their right mind pay 1500RMB for an electric razor? "Honey," he said, "they're the same people who would pay 3000RMB for a 70RMB jade necklace. It's all about the face."

Would you like some cheez whiz with your rice?

My dad, apparently, has decided that I'm not an American anymore.

I was talking to him online last night, and he made several comments that sort of amused and surprised me at the same time. We were talking about him and mom wanting to learn Chinese. Now, I think this is great. Learning a foreign language is very rewarding, and if they want to take up Chinese as a hobby, more power to them. However, my dad's reasoning is that he'll need Chinese in order to communicate with his grandchildren.

This sort of shocked me. Of course we'll be teaching our children English. Won't we? My husband doesn't speak English besides a few words here and there, and we use Chinese together, but English is my native language. I don't want to spend my entire life communicating to my children in a second language. We also don't plan on spending our lives in China.

This comes as a surprise to some people. After all, I've been here for four years, which might as well be a lifetime, right? It seems that some people take my extended stay in China as a conscious rejection of America, which it isn't really. During the same conversation yesterday, my dad said to me "we love your country." When I told this to Wang Yao, he just about died laughing. How could China be MY country? In China, I'm reminded of my foreign-ness every day. There is not a single person in this country who would ever call me Chinese, ever include me in their mental "one of us," and yet my own family and friends often seem eager to strip me of my citizenship, and proclaim that I've "gone native." I should clarify that they never say this in a bad way -- the attitude is almost always amused, and a bit proud, as if, by association, they too can claim a bit of international blood, a little bit of China for themselves.

Of course, this puts me in an awkward position. My countrymen back home are quick to announce that I'm Chinese now, but the Chinese people themselves aren't so eager to accept me. To them, being Chinese is not about how long you've lived here. It isn't about how much you love Chinese culture, how well you speak the language. It's about blood, and that's something I'll never ever have. While Wang Yao can go to America and literally become American, I can never become Chinese. My children can be Chinese, but I can't. In Chinese eyes, I'll always be an outsider, a foreigner, and, by the same token, Wang Yao, even if we go to America, buy a Suburban and raise our children on Taco Bell and Mountain Dew, and never set foot in China again, will always be Chinese. Even our kids will always be able to lay claim to China, but not me.

Of course, I tend to agree with them. I'm not Chinese and I never will be. As much as the folks back home might delight in announcing that I'm living a totally Chinese lifestyle, I'm not. I'll sit on a curb, or in the grass, without being worried about dirt. I don't like my bread sweet. I don't see anything wrong with wearing flip flops outside the house. I like coffee, not just because drinking it makes me look cool. I hate Mandarin pop music. My cell phone doesn't have stickers all over it. I don't feel the need to have rice at every meal. I want my kids to go to school and enjoy it and enjoy learning and not grow up to be robots. I don't think it's really that tragic if a woman never gets married or has kids. I didn't consider my husband's income or ability to buy me a house and car when I married him. I didn't get rid of my cat or stop using the computer when I got pregnant. I don't have a drop of Chinese blood in me. I'm not Chinese.

If anything, living in China for so long has made me feel more American. While there are certain aspects of my native land that I'd love to disown, I can't deny the fact that she made me who I am. I'm the product of Montessori schools, summers at Folly beach, hippy relatives, building forts in the backyard, swimming pools, learners permits, keggers, Nintendo, free thinking, a multicultural environment, hating Bush, Tex-mex, Indy rock, and a liberal arts degree. These aren't things you can get in China, and even though my four years here have been delightful and informative and person building, they have nothing on the 23 years, the formulative years, that I spent in the USA.

So, in answer to my father, and to all the others out there who might have, at one point, wondered just what "label" fits on me, just keep in mind that there are some things that are easier said than done, and renouncing one's nationality is one of them. Furthermore, as frustrated as I get with America sometimes, I don't think that China is "better," and my choice to be here has nothing to do with picking sides, or becoming something that I'm not. I think anyone who has spent an extended time in another country, particularly us Westerners in Asian countries, realize that often our experiences here serve not to sever us from that home culture, but to tie us more strongly to it. We crave things we would never touch back home, like Cheez Whiz (a fellow American expat, a slim, pretty, California lady, picked up a can of the stuff in the market today and told me that THIS was how pathetic she'd gotten. Her boyfriend, for his part, had taken to eating tater tots every night before bed). We watch TV shows that we'd otherwise skip (like The OC). We get excited when the cafe has a 2 month old issue of People magazine because we can "catch up" on celebrity gossip that we wouldn't otherwise care about (Britney Spears had another flip-out). The folks back home might imagine that we're distainfully shedding our Western skins, but in reality, we're embracing our own cultures all the more because we're not within them, not able to take them for granted.

Many Chinese people ask me "which country is better, China or America?" My answer is always the same. It isn't a contest. There are things about both countries which I love, and things about both countries that I detest. While both sides seem eager to make me choose, I'm content with being in the middle. My kids will learn Chinese AND English. We'll eat macaroni and cheese tomorrow, and ginger pork the next day. We live in China now, but we might live in America in 5 years. My husband will always be Chinese, and I'll always be American, and our children will be a product of both of us. We didn't choose it this way, but I know that we most certainly wouldn't change it either.

Mei Tais. How to carry your baby like a Chinese farmer.

Ok, so the title is sort of flippant, but I was truly surprised when, a couple of months ago, browsing on some websites about parenting and stuff, I noticed that there seemed to be a new trend in baby-carrying, that trend being strapping the baby to the mother's back, Asian peasant style, with the aid of a beautifully embroidered rectangle of fabric and belts that go under the baby's butt, making a seat out of the fabric and giving the baby a comfy piggy back ride, all while leaving the parent's hands free to do other things (which, in China, would be things like planting rice seedlings. The US equivalent would be shopping at Whole Foods). In SouthWest China, where I live, these contraptions are called "bei" (pronounced "bay") and just by looking at one, you'd have no idea how this thing would secure a child to your back, but they do, and have been in use for thousands of years.

Anyhow, some marketing genius seemed realized that these "bei" had the makings of a major parenting trend, and voila, the "Mei Tai" was born (I have no idea who came up with the name, but it sounds prettier than "bei" I suppose). Google Mei Tai and you can find many examples of the good old Chinese peasant baby carrier, fancied up with a few extra bells and whistles, being marketed to well-intentioned parents everywhere, for prices as high as 160 US dollars.

I showed a couple of these sites to my husband, and he was intrigued. We live in China, the land of the Mei Tai. We can get Mei Tai, and we can offer real, authentic Mei Tai to everyone out there who is sick of the commodification of native cultures and would like to support the continuation of a genuine Chinese tradition, which is, ironically, dying out in China. Upper class Chinese wouldn't be caught dead wearing a Mei Tai, because doing so would basically be the same as announcing to the world that you work in the fields -- not that there's anything wrong with working in the fields, but this is not a misconception that city-bred folks are willing to risk. The bottom line is that, as China modernizes and develops, the practice of carrying babies on the back, of embroidering elaborate "bei" with symbols meant to bring good luck and prosperity for this purpose, is, like so many other traditional customs, is dying out. Which I think is kind of sad. But not sad enough that I feel like the Mei Tai market should be commodified and taken over by Western manufacturers who can charge customers an arm and a leg for them. Instead, I think it would be great if people who wanted Mei Tai would buy Chinese "bei" instead. Of course, not everyone has relatives and friends in China who can get "bei" so easily, and so, friends of this blog, I have a proposition to make ...

I'm not trying to make a lot of money off of this, but if anyone is interested in getting a "bei" from China, contact me at jesslarsonwang@gmail.com. Here are a few pictures of some "bei" we picked up in my husband's native village over the May Holiday:

I know the pictures aren't that great, but "bei" are pretty basic. This one is a velvety fabric, red on a black background. The reverse side is a plain deep blue cotton. The straps are thicker, woven blue striped cotton. It's fairly large and could easily carry either a new born or a 2 year old, if said 2 year old was cooperative enough! Anyhow, I don't have a completely unlimited supply of these things, but if you contact me and let me know what you're looking for, I'll do my best to find a "bei" that suits you.

A new blog, a new beginning

After many half-hearted attempts at blogging in the past, I've decided to give it another go. Sure, I could have taken up an old blog, last updated sometime circa 2004, but that somehow didn't seem appropriate. It wouldn't feel "right" placing this new life next to the old one. No, a fresh beginning seems the best for a fresh start.

To update those friends, new and old, who don't know what I've been up to lately, here's a quick rundown.

Last May (yes, a whole year ago), after returning from a much-needed trip to Laos, I started seeing the man who is now my husband. Wang Yao was, at the time, a guitarist and singer, working days at a local musical instrument shop, and performing nightly at a lounge club aimed at the trendy new Chinese upper-middle class (the menu featuring an astouding number of coffee drinks with names like The Black Nebula, as well as about 40 flavors of bubble tea. And, of course, Budweiser). We met when I went to see a friend perform drums at the same lounge club -- my friend was accompanying Wang Yao, who, as it turns out, I'd actually met once, two years earlier, under similar circumstances. After our reintroduction, our romance progressed steadily, and within a month we were a serious item. By the end of four months, we'd processed our marriage paperwork, and at the end of 2006, 2 days after Christmas, we held a wedding celebration in his hometown of Zhushan (110 kilometers from Kunming), attended by my parents, who flew in from America, a dear American friend who acted as my bridesmaid, and many of mine and Wang Yao's mutual friends from all-over Kunming. Although far from the fairy-tale wedding that most American girls seem to imagine for themselves, my wedding was a perfect blend of Chinese and American traditions, and I could not have been more happy with the results.

Fast forward five months later, and Wang Yao and I are expecting our first child, due on October 17th. Although our relationship has progressed quickly over the course of a year, we are absolutely committed to each other and to building a family together. Last July I became an investor in a startup foreign language center in Kunming (Pathways International Education Center), and Wang Yao is now helping me to run it. He still performs in clubs from time to time, but for now our main project is our school and our family. Being from two different cultures obviously presents some challenges for us, and we tackle those head on, as they come. And of course, even though I've lived in China for almost four years now, this country still manages to surprise me, these days in all new ways as a wife and soon-to-be mother, rather than a single woman. So, I look forward to sharing my observations with all of you, and hope to learn a little something myself by putting it all down in writing.